


Lapdog

by Lokkju



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse, Anal Sex, And Mark is a cunt, Angst, Because Nathan's got some issues okay, Changing Tenses, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, Dubiously Consensual Drug Use, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Ero Guro, Guro, Honestly kinda fucked up ngl, Hurt, Implied Consent, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mark Jefferson Is His Own Warning, Not Beta Read, Physical Abuse, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Purple Prose, Sex, Smut, Stockholm Syndrome, because i'm tired, jefferscott, kinda sad, mlm, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:20:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28036050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokkju/pseuds/Lokkju
Summary: It was always a shitty, fucked up cycle when it came to Mark, but a cycle he found he couldn't break. A cycle he depended on like a starving dog depends on the hand that feeds it.
Relationships: Mark Jefferson/Nathan Prescott
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	Lapdog

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING/DISCLAIMER  
> This fic contains graphic description of physical, mental and drug abuse and mentions of self harm - none of which I encourage/condone of.

Nathan knows deep down he should end the sinful affair and turn away from the hand that feeds him; but when Mark is all over him with his hot wet mouth he knows he can't resist. Those empty words and cold dead kisses are an addiction he can't break away from. He lets the older man prey upon him as a bird would a worm, capturing that blind, defenseless creature within it's grasp. No, he feels nothing for Mark Jefferson but that desperation to be of worth, to some day be a picture upon his wall, within a folder of his own. To be gazed upon with dilated eyes, blown wide with lust and to be cradled like some precious thing. And as he is shoved down onto the table, bite marks harsh and raw on his neck, he knows he is getting his high once again.

"Such a good boy for me," are those familiar words, warm although empty in Nathan's ears and down his back, equally strong and forceful hands roaming his chest and stomach. He wonders if he looks as good as those girls of Mark's, disgustingly pliant and weak in those sensual photos he knows he loves so much. He can only hope. He lets Mark pull down his jeans, silently pleading for more, for that climax in the way only Mark can bring - that closeness that only Mark will fake for him.

Mark strips him down to his bare bones, drinking in the sight of the boy. His toy lies submissive and careless, skin bleached porcelain white in those bright studio lights, with the backdrop of the metal table his daddy's money had paid for. Limbs splayed out, soft pink and purple watercolour splodges across his chest and neck, with eyes fixated on the cold plain ceiling in an unfeeling stare. This was what he had trained his boy for.

"Wait like that, baby." Mark murmurs and Nathan bites his lip to swallow the way it makes his heart jump - his obedience is easily won. The teacher reaches for a needle, filling it with a cloudy orange liquid. He then grabs Nathan's hair, yanking his head back to expose his neck and stabs the syringe into it, the searing pain making Nathan's body involuntarily convulse. In any other situation, Nathan would have fought back, maybe scratched or bit at his attacker, but here he relaxed as much as he could and gave in, subservient as possible so as to please his master.

He knows that Mark prefers his subjects with a spark in them, but this was different. Nathan is truly nothing to Mark, he is merely a sweet object to be used, and so here there are no expectations. Life and death are no issue here - and he could bear no consequences for any of his actions. Here he is nothing, and that was everything. He had given up on making Mark love him long ago, on attempting that healthy balance between them as it seemed much easier just to give in than to fight for what would never come. Why kill himself when someone else would do it for him?

Mark _i_ _s,_ however, showing him some semblance of sympathy; the anaesthesia will ease the pain a little, as the older man never plays nice with his toys. He uses them until they break, until he has taken everything from them and they are pathetically grovelling for it to end. Though, he probably only uses because he gets off on the person being unable to fight back, unable to hurt him. He probably gets off on being like a god to them.

It won't stop the pain the next day though, as Nathan will stagger out of bed with his body screaming at every orifice and scar from the abuse. At least this way he's spared from the agony momentarily, and can enjoy the performance like an animal shot by a hunter, tranquilized and then desecrated. It will mask the pain, some of the pleasure and then everything else, leaving him as a subdued husk to be used to Mark's liking. 

"There you go," Mark grins, looking down at the boy, fingertips trailing in the blood from a bite at his neck. "Now are you going to be good for me?"

Nathan only whines pitifully, but Mark knows the answer. He places two fingers by Nathan's lips, his student obliging faithfully and enveloping them in the warmth of his mouth. Nathan's tongue is sloppy, no doubt the work of the sedatives but Mark drinks in the image, watching the saliva running down the boy's adam's apple and pooling in his collarbone. Empty eyes gaze back at Mark, heavy lidded and drowsy as Nathan shakily lifts his hand to rest it precariously on Marks own.

"Please," is the only word that he can muster, but it's good enough. The fingers leave his mouth, playing with his split lip and eventually coming to rest between his legs. Mark gives him a look almost unreadable, but the slight quirk of the eyebrow and tug of his lips show his true intentions. He is going to break Nathan, and the boy will beg for it. When Nathan feels a finger push deep into him he moans, pitchy and twisted as he wraps his legs around Mark's waist with toes curling in anticipation. "I need it, I need it, I need it," he repeats under his breath, the tone unconvincing at best. The older man is rough, impatient as he shoves his finger deeper inside him, eyes hooded and hidden by the glint from the lights. Nathan is lucky to be prepped this time.

The fingers slowly increase in number, stretching Nathan wider and making him cry out, his whines high and drawn out as his eyes roll into the back of his head. He bites his lip, the blood trickling into his throat making him splutter as those fingers carry on defiling his insides. Mark is leaning forwards, sucking bruises into the boy's neck and lapping at the bite marks, new and old as Nathan feels him bite against his skin. Once Mark is satisfied with Nathan, he tugs at his own jeans, undoing his fly. Nathan is used to Mark not getting entirely naked; it just isn't the way things work between them. 

He lines himself up with Nathan's hole, pausing before pushing himself in. It isn't to allow Nathan time to breathe - Mark is waiting for something. But what? Nathan mewls and looks around, squirming as much as he could get away with. What has he fucked up this time? Mark is silent, soft breaths leaving his lips as he just stares at Nathan, making no attempt to move.

"Mark?" He asks tentatively, anxious that he's done something wrong. He gingerly begins to turn around, opening his mouth to speak again before he is slammed back down onto the table, his vision tainted with stars as his head whacks the table. His eyes water from the blow to the nose, and he feels blood pour down his chest and clogging up his nostrils. 

"Never," Mark spits into his ear. "Never, _ever_ use my name without permission. Understand?" He emphasises every word by tightening his grip on the boy's hair, eventually pulling some of it out. His voice is deep, raspy. The tone of voice that struck fear deep into him. "You don't deserve to feel it on your tongue... you aren't worthy. You are nothing to me, you know that? Nothing. How fucking _dare_ you." Nathan knows that the words are dripping with pride, selfishness and a god complex, but his mind doesn't want to think about that. He doesn't care about rational choices or "what's right," he just wants Mark to praise him for being a good boy, even if the teacher was the one who set him up for failure in the first place. Even if the rule was kinda stupid.

"I'm sorry sir, I..." He stumbles over his words, voice shaking as he searches for the string of words that won't get him hurt again. "I forgot again. I'm sorry."

Usually when he messes up or breaks a rule, Mark will punish him, but he seems on edge today. Nervous, perhaps, at least as nervous as Mark _can_ be. He doesn't seem to be bothered with cutting the boy open this time, belittling him further and leaving him in the dark room to bleed. He looks tired and angry, but the overwhelming emotion is _hunger._ His deep brown eyes are clouded with lust, narrowed slightly from the surge of pleasure at smashing the boy's head in. Mark is hungry, and it doesn't look like he'll be taking any prisoners.

"Sir, I mean it. I didn't-"

"Shut the fuck up, Nathan." Mark pretends to punch the boy, the sides of his lips curling as he watches him flinch beneath him. "Words never do seem to teach you, do they?" He mumbles. "Maybe I should leave you here, hard and alone in your own blood, pathetically crying out for my dick. Maybe I should call your dad down here, tell him about all the awful things you've done to those girls. To _Rachel._ " 

Nathan shudders, eyes wide. He knows Mark won't do that, wouldn't dare, but the thought still strikes fear into him. If Mark did tell everyone about Rachel, he would never see him again, never get to feel that love ever again. He would be alone again. All because he accidentally killed a girl.

"Please, sir, I...." He feels tears pricking at the sides of his eyes, partially in genuine fear and partially to make Mark forgive him. "I... please don't tell anyone about her, please. I need this - need you, and I... I don't know what I would do without you." The grovelling seems to work, as Mark just sighs and takes in the view of Nathan's tears, probably trying to memorize it so he could jack off to it later. 

"You're lucky I can't be assed today. You know what would happen if I could be." Nathan most certainly does. Mark looks down to him, the predatory gaze back as he grins. It used to scare Nathan, that smile, but now he knows that Mark is happy - that he made him happy - and that that was the most important thing. The unchaste and depraved look burns through him, not bothering with niceties as Mark pins Nathan down by the throat and thrusts into him, the uncomfortable pressure making the boy squeak, but never cry out. It's on the knife-edge between pleasure and pain; just as Mark wants it to be.

"What's my name, Nathan?" Mark bites down hard on Nathan's earlobe, tugging at it as Nathan squeezed his eyes shut.

"Sir... you're Sir to me." His breathing is heavy and laboured, attempting to loosen up his body and alleviate the pain a little.

"Good, good boy." Mark whispers, that kind voice back again. As much as Nathan hates hit, he perks up at the endearing tone, feeling immediately loved with those positive affirmations. "See, you can be good when you want to be. You just have to try harder."

With that Mark begins to move his hips, thrusting at a steady pace into Nathan. It hurts, but he isn't going to lie and say it wasn't amazing. The adrenaline only heightens his pleasure, making him moan out like a whore as Mark fucks into him, his _toy._ There is something about being pinned down and used, being a belonging to someone, that makes Nathan throw his head back, desperate to cant back into Mark's furious rutting.

If he attempts to move in any way, Mark's hands will resume their position in his hair and reward him with a bloodied face smashed against the table - not that he wants to fight it anyway. The boy is obsessed with Mark, obsessed with the attention, the affection of a man who could teach him how to be happy, the patting of his hair after bruising up his face filling him with needy gratitude. The unconditional, unquestionable affection was earned by Nathan in a sick unspoken agreement some couple years ago, back when he was younger, more stupid and gullible. It was illegal then, and it most definitely had escalated to be undoubtedly more immoral now. However, it's just the way things are, they way Nathan's needy whines plead for. 

Mark whispers empty compliments as he carries on thrusting inside the boy, meeting Nathan's vacant gaze with an equally cold and unfeeling smirk. Nathan knows his thighs will be chafed and raw the next morning, the bruises and cuts angry and colourful, but it only makes him relax more as the pliant, subserviant puppy he is. Letting Mark paint him as a canvas, leaving stroke after stroke of brilliant colour and texture upon his flesh is something magical - something which only keeps the addiction fuelled. When he attempts to paint himself pretty again on his own it is never beautiful, just an amateur's pathetic attempt at beauty as the crimson blood runs down his thighs, that old blade rusting with the nostalgic scent of iron. But here he is made beautiful once again, blessed with that talent and skill that made him _gorgeous._

Hair a mess and glasses askew, Nathan can't help but feel special. Only he gets to see Mark like this; the way that Mark really is. The _real_ Mark, not the one that flirts with Victoria or fusses over Max. The part of him, not so far down that is most certainly getting off on fucking his drugged and sedated student in a room where so many girls had been kidnapped. As stupid as it sounds, Nathan feels honoured to be the sheep that lives to describe the wolf's grin.

The sweet scent of blood and sex fills the dark room, flooding the senses left that Mark hasn't drugged into numbness. Nathan's body is thrust into the table, his forehead banging onto it over and over again as Mark fucks into him, the tight grip on his hips burning bruises into the flesh. His cock drags against his walls, filling him up in a pathetic act of pity as the thrusts press Nathan's dick harder down into the table. It's so much, the cold table against his nipples, the cock inside him stretching him wide and the pressure on his dick. It's overwhelming, but he needs more.

"Sir.." He moans out, nails scratching heinously against the metal beneath him. Mark grabs him by the hair, digging his nails into his scalp and snapping his head back. He knows exactly what the kid needs.

"Beg for it." Marks eyes are clouded with lust, waiting for his puppy to speak his mind. Nathan hasn't always been this open, but the last couple years have worn him down into the perfect little toy, ready to plead for every touch and stroke. "Prove you deserve it, after acting like a little fucking shit before."

"Please, God please sir," He groans, hands balled up into little fists, "please please please, Mark, I need it so badly - need _you_ so badly... I'm sorry, I just... I'm so desperate and ah!-" 

Mark flips him over, ripping his half-healed scars from the table and pulling his dick out from the boy. He shoves him down onto his back and lifts Nathan's legs onto his shoulders, pushing his cock back into his asshole with his nails tearing up the skin on his thighs. He again locks eyes with the boy beneath them, and after seeing only the desperation he expects he decides to oblige to his wishes. Nathan sighs, smiling softly as he feels a strong hand curl around his throat, pressing him down into the table. Mark grins back at him, locking eyes with his prey before resuming the pace he had held before, pistoning into the boy as he gave out hitched, strangled moans.

It is too much, much too much, feeling everything and nothing at all. The sound of skin on skin and panting, deep groans from Mark meeting Nathan's high and nervous ones. The tightness around his throat, his adam's apple hurting every time he swallows and the edges of his vision turning black. The feeling of Mark; inside him and outside him, filling him up and enveloping him in some profuse sensory attack. It's too much, and he feels himself reaching his orgasm. He's aware that he's probably screaming, maybe spasming, and then it all goes black. He comes against the table, tears finally spilling from his eyes as the lack of oxygen makes him shut off; makes him give everything to Mark.

The room is spinning when he wakes, used and spent with come dripping down his thigh and mixing with the blood around him. His face is painted with that debauched expression he no longer sees as foreign, the exhausted and drained face that no one in their right mind would read as having been in bliss. Limbs splayed out and draped over the sides of the table, his body is loose and broken except for the slight pinching of his brow and tightness at the sides of his eyes at that odd feeling of numbed pain. He ought to feel dirty, filthy and used, but the heat of the scene only make his chest rise and fall quicker, soft pants leaving his lips in the picturesque definition of submission. The high will probably last a week at best, but Mark will always be there when he needs him. Mark is _always_ available when he needs this kind of treatment.

Eventually the teacher returns with that hateful camera; it's photos Nathan begs for yet he knows they will be the death of him. Mark angles it to look down on him as Nathan tilts his neck back, a subconscious effort to allow the vulture's ravenous stare to truly pick his bones clean. The room drifts in and out of focus, Nathan's head lolling back on the table until the sharp flash and click bring him back to reality.

He feels oddly pretty, as he always does after having his photo taken. Maybe it's because of Mark's talent, or maybe just his good looks, but knowing that the man sees beauty in him fills him with a warm feeling he can't quite describe. He doesn't _look_ beautiful, but that doesn't matter. Mark thinks he's pretty. Mark thinks he's worthwhile.

With that, Mark comes to rest by the table, perched at the side. He's smiling softly down at Nathan, stroking his cheek with his thumb. He's gentle - kind, even, and most importantly, he _cares._

 _This_ was the Mark Nathan had fallen in love with,

He runs his hands through Nathan's hair, caressing and soothing the cuts on his scalp. 

"Such a good boy for me," He murmurs, picking dried blood from a strand in front of Nathan's eyes, "You're perfect, you know that? Oh so perfect for me."

Nathan instinctively leans into his touch, the soft brushing of his hair too comforting to resist. Pale, baby blue eyes meet those familiar dark and hard ones, drinking in the scene of each other and memorizing it as best they can. Next time may not be soon, so they must cherish it for as long as possible. Next time might be more dangerous.

"I'm sorry I messed up." He immediately apologizes as soon as he catches his breath. He knows that Mark will hold a grudge if he doesn't.

"It's fine, baby," Mark curls Nathan's hair around his finger, "I know it's hard. Just don't be upset when I have to tell you off."

"I know." He knows all too well.

"Can I... can I say it now? Just once? I wanna... I wanna..." He trails off, but Mark knows what he means. He hums in response, looking down at the boy expectantly.

"Mark?" His name feels warm on Nathan's tongue, a sigh parting from his lips.

"Yeah?"

"I....I love you."

"I know." 

Nathan feels the pad of a finger stroke his cheek, and he sighs. Maybe it isn't so bad in the end. Maybe he can brave it and stay strong for another day. Because laying beside Mark, feeling those hands brush his skin and _cherishing_ him, makes him think that Mark might not be that bad after all.


End file.
